


Full Of Grace

by lil_1337



Category: Donald Strachey Mysteries
Genre: Angst, M/M, Spoilers for Shock To The System
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-11
Updated: 2015-07-11
Packaged: 2018-04-08 21:09:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4320786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lil_1337/pseuds/lil_1337
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes understanding and closure come from the most unexpected places.</p><p>Written for smallfandomfest - fest 17. </p><p>Prompt:  Donald Strachey Mysteries (movie) - Donald - Moving on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Full Of Grace

It was Tuesday. I know that because Tuesdays are my least favorite day of the week. Most people hate Mondays, but I haven’t been on a regular nine to five Monday to Friday schedule since I graduated from high school. They doesn’t exist in the army unless you are a lot higher rank than I ever reached. Private detectiving sure as hell does not equate to evenings and weekends off. All of that means that I have no personal issues with Mondays one way or another. Tuesdays, however, they’ve kicked my ass more than once.

This one had started off surprisingly well which should have made me suspicious. We had two new jobs, one of which was a pre-employment background check that Kenny could do without leaving his chair. The other was a missing person’s case, an ex-lover who had disappeared one night without any warning, leaving behind a sad and confused boyfriend. He, my client, claimed he just wanted to know if he, his ex-lover, was alive and well. No contact was requested or required, photographic proof would be enough. It seemed straight forward enough, but I should have known better, after all, it was Tuesday.

With the parameters of the job outlined and the monetary expectations clarified we moved on to the information gather portion of the program. That was when Tuesday decided to open up and crap all over me. My client, Sebastian ‘call me Bastian, you know, like the kid in Never Ending Story’ Jones was extremely organized and had written down everything he knew about his ex on a couple of pieces of notebook paper. He handed them over reluctantly and sat, hands in his lap while I looked them over.

The name at the top, Michael Johnson, seemed innocuous enough, but it sent a jar of recognition through me. The birth date was right, close enough to my own to be _him_. The physical description matched too, though it was impossible to be sure without seeing a picture. I scanned the pages again looking for any mention of military service. The answer was the same as it had been the first time, none. Still, people forget things especially when they are in an emotionally distraught state.

“Was Michael ever in the military?” I asked trying for professional and landing closer to coolly removed.

Bastian frowned then shook his head slowly. “Not that he ever mentioned. I do know that he hated guns. He thought they were dangerous to have around.”

I smiled, feeling myself relax slightly. “Probably not then.” The man I had known was obsessed with weapons, the bigger the better. That coupled with the fact that I was sure he was both straight and narrow allowed me to close and lock the door on some painful memories I really did not want to think about. Particularly when I was talking to a client.

The rest of the interview went quickly and in less than an hour Mr. Jones was on his way, seemingly happier if a little less weighted down by the amount in his checking account.

Missing persons fall into two categories, generally, those that are hiding and making a serious effort not to be found and those that aren’t so much missing as wandering. Depending on the skill set and the motivation for not being located it can be anything from a one day job to years of fruitless efforts. Fortunately, for me, I have a contact at the phone carrier that Mr. Johnson had been using previously. One call, some flirting, and the promise of an expensive meal later I had my missing person’s new number and address. Some days things fall together and it is just as simple as knowing the right people or having access to the right databases.

I had no idea what schedule my missing person was working, if at all, so I decided I would grab a burger for lunch and then head over his way for a hopefully short term stakeout. Even though the traffic would be light at that time of the day it would take me close to an hour to make my way across town. I wanted to be in place with my camera set up and ready by the time most people were arriving home.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The apartments that were Mr. Johnson’s new home were arranged more like duplexes. A set of twelve units were broken into blocks of two and arranged in two lines facing the road. Fortunately, the one that was now occupied by Mr. Johnson was on the far end so I was able to park down the street near a walk in clinic and still have a clear line of sight on anyone who might go in or come out.

I had just finished off the last of an excellent mushroom swiss burger and was contemplating dumping the greasy, tasteless, onion rings that had accompanied it when movement caught my eye. The door to unit 6A had opened and the man who emerged was older and more world worn looking than when I had last seen him, but there was no mistaking his identity. His face was forever burned into my psyche. I grabbed the camera and took several close up shots of his face and then widened the angle to show the door, the apartment complex and the street. My client was paying for photographic proof and I was not going to disappoint him.

However, once the pictures were taken I was off the clock and before I even consciously registered what I was doing I was out of the car and heading for Mr. Johnson at a dead run. He was still at the door, jiggling the key and frowning in a way that said he was still learning the quirks of his new place. I was on him in a minute, twisting the knob and shoving him inside before he had a chance to react.

“The hell?” He stumbled forward and caught himself before he fell. Spinning around he charged forward, fists up and ready. Before his first punch connected recognition kicked in and he stopped, arms dropping to his sides. “Strachey? Is that really you?” He blanched and tried to take a step away, but I grabbed two handfuls of his shirt, spun us around and slammed him into the wall. His body hit the sheetrock with a satisfying thud that shook the lamp on the table next to his leg.

“Why?” I snarled into his face. There were so many questions I wanted to ask, but in the end that was the only one that mattered.

“Why what?” He tried to avoid my eyes, but I was having none of it.

“You know what.” I shook him like a dog with a rat and watched with an almost physical pleasure as fear spread across his features. “Why did you turn us in? I spent all this time thinking you were just another homophobic dickhead. But you’re not.” I shook him again. “But you’re not. You’re gay too, just like me. Just like Kyle.”

He flinched away at the name as if I had slapped him and I let go of his shirt too disgusted to even have that minimal level of contact.

“I loved him.” Michael, he was no longer Mr. Johnson now, took a deep breath and then in slow motion slid down the wall until he was crumpled in a heap. “I loved him so much. He said he loved me, but we couldn’t be together because his career was too important. I trusted him.” He looked up at me pleading and defiant at the same time. “I waited for him for _years_! Thinking that when we were both retired things would be different. That we could finally be together. Then you came along and ruined everything!”

“He told you that?” I frowned, trying to reconcile Michael’s words with the deeply closeted Kyle I had known.

“Not in so many words.” The defiance had won out and he carefully stood up, bracing himself on the wall for support. “But I knew what he meant and I was willing to wait for him.”

I stood for a moment, just staring at him, cataloguing the lines that years of hate for himself and everyone else in the world had worn into his face. The anger drained away leaving behind an empty sadness that settled deep into my bones. There was a point in my life where I would have given everything I had and was for the chance to be able to confront Michael like this, but I was no longer that man. I hadn’t been for a long time. Without saying another word I left, pulling the door quietly closed behind me. I had what I needed to finally put the last part of the past behind me where it belonged.

I crossed the street to where my car was waiting and slid in behind the wheel. I’d done a good day’s work and no doubt my client would be pleased with both the results and the speed in which I’d accomplished them. It was still early, but I decided to call it a day instead heading back to the office. With any luck I would be able to beat the rush hour traffic across town and be home in time to meet Timmy at the door. I had a sudden need to curl up with him on the couch and wrap myself up in the knowledge of how good life could be. Even on Tuesday.


End file.
